


An Evening Heist at the Antimacassar

by Heubristics



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Heist Story, My apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heubristics/pseuds/Heubristics
Summary: Tonight at the Antimacassar Theatre is another performance of the wildly popular play *The Zailor's Wife*. But tonight, the shadowy presence of master thief Wan Bowler will be present as well...for the role of the Phantom of the Antimacassar! (Written as part of an art/story exchange)





	An Evening Heist at the Antimacassar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sinilakki](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sinilakki).



> This story was written as part of a story/art exchange for a fellow Fallen London acquaintance, about their character in the game. You can find the art made at their tumblr linked below, which also has a lot of other cool art you should definitely not miss, including that of Wan Bowler the character! 
> 
> https://sinilakki.tumblr.com/post/174759807170/the-debonair-sharpshooter-of-hotshotblackburn

For the upper class of London, the magic of the theatre may be found at the Imperial Opera House: here are the four-hour long epics of history and mythology, filled with the most lavishly decorated of sets and costumes that cost more than some well-off Londoners made in a year, featuring the highest tenors and the deepest basses. For the working class of London, there are the street shows: here are the ribauld bohemian troupes and the puppet stalls, where stock characters and penny dreadful plots abound, where the most thrilling of sights and impressive of hoaxes may be experienced for mere pennies.

But for the middle class of London, there is the Antimacassar Theatre.

Here is the foyer, gold and trim and modest glitz! Here are the posters of operas and shows, comedies and tragedies and farces and dramas, the painted figures of the leads glowing and vibrant under electric lights. Comfortable seats for those waiting for the next show. A bar for those hanging around after the previous one.

And through these doors: the opera house itself. Three rows of seats arranged in a u-shape around the stage, plush red seats and cheerful yellow trim throughout. A golden curtain shimmers just behind the front floor of the stage, dappled with flecks of light and colour throughout. Here are played the so-called “Antimacassar operas” of Gillibrand and Searle, comic librettos that satirize just about every element of Neath society: _The Zailor’s Wife, By Decree of the Khan, Devil be Thy Mother._

Tonight it is to be a repeat of the long-running _The Zailor’s Wife_ , perpetually beloved and applauded by the moderate-to-do of London. A romantic comic farce about the trials and tribulations of a band of would-be pirates, the play had become an instant hit after its first showing and the talk of the town by the third. While the fashions of clothing, food, flowers, and science could change from month to month, _The Zailor’s Wife_ remained popular regardless of season.

For the moment, all is hurry and waiting. The audience mills around the foyer and the seating areas, chatting and discussing the latest news and trends. The backstage is a rush of activity, with stagehands and technical teams and actors dashing around as seemingly chaotic but actually well-organized clockwork. They have been on this production for weeks, and by now all the bugs have been worked out - the mistakes made - the flow and tension of the show’s runtime established. This should be no different than any previous night.

And suddenly, a flash of lightning! - one of the lighting crew frantically works to fix their malfunctioning spotlight - and a shadow appears high up along the catwalks.

In the hustle and bustle of pre-production, no one sees the shadow of a person that appears silhouetted against the wall for the briefest of moments. If any of the audience had, they would have assumed it as a member of the stage crew. If any of the stage crew had, they would have shook their head and mumbled a wish for luck. Everyone knows there is a ghost that haunts the Antimacassar Theatre, that brings bad luck and misfortune on nights when it appears.

Unseen and unnoticed, Wan Bowler smiles and adjusts their rope. For tonight, they will play the role of the Phantom of the Antimacassar!  

~~~~~ 

It is Act I, and the audience is already whooping and laughing at the antics on stage. The Zestful Zailor and Beleaguered Maid have just finished their duet “Sixteen Years on an Alcaeus Corvette,” and the audience is already impatient for the first appearance of the Admiral’s Daughter.

From a corner in the wings, Wan kneels in the shadow and inspects a hand-drawn map of their plan. The plot is detailed yet simplistic, elaborate in all the right ways yet practical in all the other ways. They will start off slow, swooping down during “The Zee is the Place to Be” number with the rest of the performers to take a hat here, a kerchief there. Something to put the audience on edge. Then, during the Intermission, they will perform a series of shadow puppets on the walls to hype up the crowd. And then finally, during the dramatic second act performance of “Storm, Stone, and Salt” they would make their big entrance! A dark swoop over the crowd, panic in the audience, a theatre full of jewelry and baubles for the taking!

Well, at least that’s the way it’s supposed to go. This is, to be quite honest, the first time they’ve attempted this particular feat.

In the meantime, they sit and watch the play from high above, quietly munching on a sandwich. The Admiral’s Daughter appears on stage, and the audience below titters and giggles at the romantic haplessness between her and the Zailor. Wan, for their part, laughs at the jokes and the pratfalls as the two attempt to show off how they think their perfect spouse would act. They brush crumbs off their mouth and look to the audience, trying to figure out what would be a good first target. The exceedingly small hat of that lady in the fourth row? The opera glasses tucked in the breast pocket of the devil in the first row? The cap of those three urchins in a trenchcoat? Decisions, decisions…

Before too long, the play had progressed to the pivotal point. In the rafters five actors waited with ropes winched around their torsos, ready to spring down over the audiences heads once the signal was given. Unbeknownst to them and the audience, there would be a sixth person swinging with them tonight. Wan smiled as they wrapped the rope around one hand and flexed the other one, ready and waiting.

And then - the choral strains of “We Are the Fellows of Gaider’s Mourn” began to play - the five prepare their ropes and swing out, one by one. _One - two - three - four - five - NOW!_

As the last of the pirate actors swoops out to gasps and cheers from the audience, Wan runs forward and kicks off as well. The rafters fall behind and the entirety of the theatre opens up...and Wan is soaring, flying through the air in perfected coordination. The audience rushes up, so close they could almost reach out and touch them...and with a deft twist of the wrist, Wan does. They arc under and over, swinging to the opposite end of the rafters and quickly deposit their new pair of opera glasses into a pouch by their side.

And then they reverse, and do it all over again. This is the fun part, the part where the pirates are sailing and swooping above the heads of the audience as they sing about their daring skill and their prowess with romance. Wan dives below again and again, arcing out across the span of the theatre with little more than a single rope and hand between them and the crowd below. A pair of opera glasses; a jewel-encrusted bone hairpin; a succulent bunch of mushrooms from a fungal bonnet; little things that won’t be missed immediately, but would be noted eventually.

The plan was going swell! Pick an item here, take a piece there, get the crowd unsettled and gather a little fund for oneself before the finale. Wan laughed silently to themselves. They could do this all evening!

And then it all went wrong.

Wan could see it happen as if in slow motion. Their hand, gripping the hat and feeling resistance. The rope in their other hand tensing, forcing them to a slow stop. A shearing, sucking sound, and the hat sliding off along with something else. The gentleman turning, seeing the hat, eyes widening and sliding upward to stare Wan right...in...the...eyes. And then his face purpling, his hands grabbing fruitlessly, a primal yell bellowing from his mouth: “THIEF! ROGUE! PHANTOM!”

Wan swung gently with one hand from the rope, looking out as the eyes of the audience and actors on stage turned toward their position. Whoops. In a flash, they tumbled to the ground in the midst of a group of audience members, apologizing politely as they bowled three people over. As cries of shock and outrage rose, Wan realized some minor revisions might have to be made to the original plan. Running was probably the best thing to add in right now.

So they ran. One hand clutched tightly to their prize, the other hand making sure their purse of goodies wasn’t going to go anywhere, Wan ran like the Grand Hunt itself was on their tail. They jumped over the outreached arm of a burly butler, ducked underneath the grasping talons of a delighted-looking deviless, and slid straight through the legs of an indomitable-looking matron. Where was it where was it where was it - aha! There!

And, hands reaching out to grasp and move the edges of the hidden wall-panel, Wan Bowler vanished from sight of the surprised theatre-goers.

A few minutes later, slightly dazed and exhausted, Wan was once more in the rafters, now a bit more deeper in the darkness. A good thing about that hidden lift, really. They could just wait up here again until the crowd got settled down and the play started again. _The Zailor’s Wife_ had performed through neathquakes, power outages, anarchist bombings, at least one fire caused by the candles used during a power outage, lacrestorms, and one memorable occasion when the lead actress revealed herself as Jack-of-Smiles halfway through. They wouldn’t stop for a mere would-be thief.

As Wan shook their head to clear off the fog, they brought their hand up to look at what they had snatched. There was the hat, yes, but also something else. Something soft, reddish, curly...a wig? But what…they looked downwards at the commotion that was forming in the aisles to find their original target. They saw the gentleman friend first, his face flush with emotion and his hands stripping off his coat to cover the woman. And the woman was cowering and shaking under the coat, gloves and jewelry cast aside, spiral eyes moist with tears and tentacles reaching out to cover her greenish he-

_Ohhh._

Ah, well, yes. They blushed. They hadn’t meant to be mean. They thought about providing a distraction to cover the two leaving, but after a few seconds saw that the audience still seemed focused on the disappearance of the mysterious intruder. As Wan looked out, the gentleman and his Rubbery lover managed to covertly sneak over to the exit, and then slip out to the foyer.

Wan smiled. Well, that took care of that then. Now all they had to do was wait until things settled down, wait for the play to start again…

And then the Phantom of the Antimacassar would spring forth once more! 

~~~~~

It is Act II at last, and the audience is entranced. The Zestful Zailor is mourning the loss of the Admiral’s Daughter, who traded her life and humanity to the Fathomking in exchange for the life of her father. Soon he will launch into the most dramatic tune of the play: “Storm, Stone, and Salt”. A haunting song about promising the three gods of the Zee his eternal love for the Daughter, no dry eye would be left in the house after the number. All would be well in the end - the pair make up and buy a zee-zhell near the coast to live together and the pirates become members of high society - but this was the dark before the light. The emotional storm was at its most turbulent.

And that was the time for the Phantom to appear.

Wan has made preparations for the final phase of the plan. A dramatic half-opera, a white suit, a little device that makes a ghostly wailing noise when you spin it around very quickly: these would truly make them appear as the dreaded Phantom. They wait, cloaked in shadow, listening for the telltale signal to begin their descent.

And right on time, the signal begins. The lighting crew dims the lights and calls forth stage lightning. The sound crew rattles garbage can tins and strikes cymbals to make thunder. An urchin contracted by the Antimacassar Theatre makes a plea to Storm above on the rooftop, and real lightning and thunder join the ruckus. Above it all, the Zailor’s actor belts forth the opening refrain of “Storm, Stone, and Salt.” Wan stands tall, and grits their teeth in anticipation.

Now.

They make a running leap off the rafters, and the theatre opens up before them. In the lightning they are a white silhouette, a ghost from the machine. Wan spins their noisemaker as hard as they can, and an “OOOooohhhHHHEEEeeehhhHHHOOOooo” noise joins the thunder. Below, they can hear voices:

“Good lord, what is that?!” “Is that - the PHANTOM!” “GHOST! SPIRIT! UNHALLOWED!” “Is this part of the play? Someone - tell me it’s part of the play!”

Yes! The plan comes together! There will be panic in the audience tonight, a rush for the exits, all those lovely valuables left behind for Wan to pick through, a story for the ages, and- where did the rope go?

Too late, Wan realized in their celebration that their grip had slackened on the rope. And in mid-swing, their grip had just left that rope. And now, yes, they are sailing through the air right toward the stage. Everyone can see them. Somehow, they doubt the audience will be as impressed with a Phantom that falls flat on their face in the middle of the stage. And they wouldn’t like it either!

Wan flips, turns, and crashes neatly into a wooden setpiece of a ship. They jump up just as quickly from the splintered wreck of the _HMS Tabard_ and stagger about, shaking their head. Not the softest landing they’d ever made...but not the hardest! Shaking their head, Wan prepares to make another run for it when suddenly-

-Gah! Spotlight! SPOTLIGHT!

Blinking away the spots in their eyes, Wan realized everything had gone silent. The lightning and thunder have ceased. The full eyes of the audience are upon them, standing right in the middle of the stage. The actors and stage crew have frozen. Every spotlight in the house is directed straight on them.

Well, only one thing to do then.

Wan positioned themselves firmly in the center of the stage, grinned at the audience, and sang.

It was an ethereal, haunting melody in a foreign tongue. To the audience it called to mind old ballads of fog-drenched seascapes and green-dappled fjords under moonlight. Their eyes closed and they hearts lifted as they listened to Wan’s hasty improvisation of a Mahogany Hall show tune in Finnish.

Caught up in the magic of the theatre, before an adoring crowd, Wan forgot their original plan for only a moment. But when they opened their eyes and finished their song, they realized they had forgotten a very important part of the plan: to be away before the audience realized they were not a phantom after all.

The crowd stared at them, clapping and cheering and calling for an encore. The actors and stage crew behind them just stared. Still smiling, still frozen at the center of the stage, a drop of sweat rolled down Wan’s forehead.

The actress who played the Admiral’s Daughter walked up and tapped Wan on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” the actress said in a dangerous tone, “but who exactly are you?”

Wan turned slowly to face her, and gave a small wave. They turned to the actor playing the Zestful Zailor, and then to the crew, and then to the audience, and gave them all small waves for good measure as well. They carefully tipped their hat in gratitude, and carefully slid the purse of bulging valuables behind their back. Then, with a graceful ease, Wan bolted for the exit.

Ah, another night at the opera.


End file.
